If there's a person who could look less like they'd be the owner of that dog around here, Eames can't see them. And he likes to think that if he was going to put his dog in a jumper, it'd be nicer than that. Or at least hideous in the right way. That poor dog is suffering.

The absurdity of it is enough that Eames has to pause at the question, (or the demand for an answer, rather,) obviously thrown for a moment before he shakes his head and raises an eyebrow with an emphatic, "no, it's not," glancing from this surly kid (young man, whatever) to the dog.

If anything he seems more sympathetic to the dog's plight here, getting down on a knee and making a gentle shushing noise as he pulls a glove off and coaxes it to him, lavishing the little thing with affection now it's shut up for a second.

"Where'd you find it?"